


silken satin

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fantasy, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She can hear both him and her exhale in unison once the doors close. They are alone.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Queen/Prince Consort
Kudos: 11





	silken satin

**Author's Note:**

> this is a snippet from a much longer work i'll be posting on here, edited so that it can work as a standalone but also cuz this scene is stuck in my head. pardon any typos i wrote this late cuz quarantine got my sleep schedule fucked

Ana does not hate her new husband. Truly, she does not, however hard he lobbied for it, as it was ultimately in her power to acquiesce or not. It was not like before, when she was but a girl of sixteen years being told of her sale, a girl on her seventeenth nameday facedown in the sand. She is queen now, and he is not king. He will never be king, even as he holds court beside her on the dais, seemingly merry with drink. She knows it to be a lie, knows that he worries about laying with a woman with no living heir, with a cursed lineage. 

But Vartan is prince consort, if not king, so he too has a role to play, just as she does as queen. He may not love her, but that is the fate of all nobles. Eventually the playacting turns real, as the night winds down and the festivities die and the priests come to escort them to her bedchamber. _Their_ bedchamber, now. They peel back the velvet coverlet and anoint the satin sheets with oils, as Ana grinds her teeth against their false gods, her husband's false gods. She is of the Old Religion, she knows true divinity, this is a perversion. Necessary, but nonetheless. Eventually, they file out, slippers padding against the stone. She can hear both him and her exhale in unison once the doors close. They are alone.

Ana turns towards the bed, and feels his presence behind her, growing closer, until his breath is hot on the back of her neck. She hopes he does not kiss her. 

He does not. Vartan grabs the collar of her dress, at the first starting knob of her back, and rips, tearing it along her back. She feels the cool air on her skin. Ana says nothing as he grabs a fistful of her skirts and does the same, as he moves around in front of her, gathers two fistfuls of her bodice and yanks. _It was a lovely gown_ , she thinks, almost dully, as it lies in tattered rags at her feet, some scraps of cloth still clinging stubbornly to her shift. The silk had not been cheap. He discards his shirt and trousers with equal lack of care, and she lets the shift drop to the floor, stands before him in her nakedness. 

For a moment, he gapes. Ana knows she is beautiful, but it puts no spark of pride in her. Terrible things happen to beautiful queens. 

He too is naked, but she does not look at his body, nor even his face, staring at a spot beyond his shoulder as his eyes narrow and he cups one breast, fingers digging into the flesh until she knows a bruise has formed. Her husband's hand ghosts over a nipple, and pinches until it crackles painfully. She does nothing. His hand travels, touches her belly, her thighs, traces over her bottom and finally over her sex. She had thought this quirk of inspecting a bride as though meat had been a quirk of her first husband's, but no. 

Perhaps she has a predilection for a specific type of man. Boorish and forced on her. The idea almost makes her laugh, until Vartan thrusts three fingers up inside her harshly. She is dry and feels herself wince, though he does not seem to notice. Were she a different girl, acting her eighteen years rather than older, she might have sobbed. Instead, when he withdraws his hand and nods, she lifts her chin. 

"On the bed." It is neither an order nor a question, merely a statement, an acknowledgment of the next step. Ana steps over the pile of torn silk and lies among the satin sheets on her back. Her husband knees on the bed and spreads her legs. He is still limp, and she waits for him to get himself erect so they can do this and tell the priests and gossiping maids and concerned lords that they did what was done, and soon she will whelp an heir for him, never fear. 

Instead, Vartan bows his head and makes as if to put his mouth upon her cunt. Ana jerks back. 

"No." He looks up at her. He is no evil man, of course he would want to pleasure his wife, his queen. But the idea of it turns her stomach. "Look to yourself," she tells him instead, and tips her head back, slipping her fingers between her legs and rubbing. She lets her mind take her somewhere else, perhaps to a sweet smelling evening with her night, his lips on her's and his hands gentle on her breasts as he helps her reach her peak. She imagines his face, his blue eyes, and curses royal politics that he was common while she was noble, unable to both bed and wed. 

She will see him tomorrow, she knows, and the thought of their lovemaking once the dawn comes gets her slick. She hears Vartan pant, no doubt stroking himself to hardness, thrusting into his own fist. Perhaps he imagines someone else too. Soon, however, she withdraws her fingers, and he looms over her. 

He does not look at her, instead fixes his eyes on the headboard as he takes himself in hand once more and pushes into her. Even with her preparations, the stretch is uncomfortable and foreign, and for a moment Ana thinks to flail, to push him off her. But she does not, allows him to sink in until he is hilted, turns her head and looks at the window as he slowly withdraws then snaps his hips back in. It jolts her, but she keeps her eyes on the window nonetheless. 

Vartan finds a rhythm quickly, taking his pleasure hard and fast and just a few touches shy of brutal. He has his hands on her hips, squeezing until the bones creak as he moves her to meet his harsh thrusts. He pounds at her, as if to drive her through those satin sheets that rub at her back. It is neither comfortable nor pleasurable, and Ana stares at the window, her body limp, her arms and legs splayed useless as a starfish. Her head is thrust towards the pillows every time he shoves his cock, mussing and tangling the intricate braids her handmaidens had woven earlier that day. Her breasts judder and bounce with each thrust, almost painfully, and Ana stares at the window and keeps herself pliant and liquid. 

Her husband continues to rut, and for a while all she hears is the smack of flesh on flesh as their hips meet, his huffing breath, the grind of her teeth as she clenches them and waits for him to be done. He bends down to her and buries his face in her neck as he moves, wet pants on her skin and for a moment, knowing he won't see, she squeezes hot eyes shut and wills any tears away. 

This is not her first wedding night. 

His mouth moves down as he continues to fuck, on and on, his teeth biting a nipple, the hard pinch and pull another spark of pain as he continues to pound and thrust. Ana lets herself clutch the sheets into tight fists, tries not to whimper at the hurt as his thrusts go erratic and fast and almost breathlessly difficult to take. Vartan reaches his peak with a muffled moan, spending inside her as she shudders around him, staying inside her until he softens and pulls himself out. Ana closes her legs, keeps herself still even as she feels her breasts ache, her cunt ache, her hips ache, her throat ache from holding back sounds. Her husband dresses himself, and seems to remember his wife is queen as he makes a spasm she might interpret for a bow before exiting. 

Only then does she moves, pulling herself up and taking in a long, deep breath. She examines herself, the bruises on her skin, her swollen nipples, snarled hair, the scraps of fine, destroyed silk on the floor by their bed. She can feel his seed inside her, trying to seek what was never there. For all the kingdom's hopes and all his ruthless ministrations tonight, he will not beget neither son nor daughter on her. And once Ana finds a way to deal with him that won't start a war, he will never force himself into her bed again. 


End file.
